Suddenly
by LaurenIsCool
Summary: Enjolras had always wanted kids. Grantaire was indifferent. They would occasionally argue about the topic, but a decision was made for them one February night when Éponine, face streaked with tears, burst into their house and proclaimed that she was pregnant. Cue domestic fluff, smut, violence, and all that other fun shit you people love.


Enjolras had always wanted kids. Grantaire was indifferent. They would occasionally argue about the topic, but a decision was made for them one February night when Éponine, face streaked with tears, burst into their house and proclaimed that she was pregnant. There wasn't any need for discussion on their part: Enjolras wouldn't let an irresponsible and incapable Éponine raise a child, and Grantaire was willing to do anything for his best friend.

The boys settled her into their guest bedroom and then sat down next to each other in the hallway. Grantaire sighed heavily. "This is going to change everything, you know."

"Not everything," disagreed Enjolras, as usual, "and we have time to prepare. It's going to be okay." He curled an arm around his lover, who responded by resting his head on his shoulder.

"We're going to have to give up a lot," he ventured cautiously. The men both had their vices that needed to be sorted out before introducing a baby to the family: namely Grantaire's drinking and Enjolras's obsession with his work. Though the two had gotten better over the years, there was still room for improvement.

Slowly, Enjolras nodded. "Yes." He paused. "I'm going to have to cut back on my hours."

"I could start working from home." Grantaire proposed. It wasn't like he worked much anyway: his entry-level position in graphic design wasn't very demanding time-wise.

"We can turn the study into a nursery."

"I'll paint animals on the wall."

This elicited a chuckle from Enjolras, tightening his grip on his shoulder and rubbing a thumb lightly in circles. He pressed his lips into Grantaire's wild curls. "I love you." He murmured before kissing his head softly.

"We'll probably have to remove all the alcohol from the house," Grantaire ventured, "You know, so our kid doesn't get into it."

Enjolras's breath hitched in his throat. "You would do that?" He inquired. There had been half-assed attempts in the past, but none of which had the impending deadline of 8 months.

"Yes." He replied, more sure than he'd ever been. For once, he wasn't going to stop for Enjolras. Yes, he loved – venerated – his partner, but when it came down to it, he knew Enjolras would love him no matter what, and so there wasn't much motivation beyond the occasional fight or withheld pleasures. Now that there was a new bargaining chip, Grantaire was for once seriously considering going all in and kicking the habit for good.

"I don't care what you've said in the past, Grantaire. You're going to make a great father." He said earnestly.

"Maybe, maybe not," he sighed, "but you can be damn sure I'll try my best."

Éponine had cooled down significantly a few days later. She had temporarily moved into their guest room upon their insistence.

She woke up early Sunday morning to the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. She yawned, stretched, and sat up a bit to find that a fluffy pale-yellow robe had been draped across the end of her bed. Grinning, she swung her feet out of bed and into her fuzzy new slippers and snuggled herself into her new robe. Enjolras and Grantaire had been doting on her for the past few days, and she was not someone to pass up free love and affection that she lacked as a child.

When she reached the open kitchen, Enjolras was sitting at the breakfast bar, newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other. Grantaire was standing at the source of the delicious smell. He glanced at the new arrival. "Good morning." He groaned, sliding an omelet off of the pan and onto a plate. "Made you breakfast." He put the plate down at the breakfast bar, next to a small plate of toast, a tall glass of milk, and half a grapefruit.

"What's all this?" Asked a smiling Éponine.

"Enjolras took the liberty of spending four fucking hours researching nutrition during pregnancy while neglecting his other duties—" He shot a pointed glare toward Enjolras, who in turn grinned without taking his eyes off the newspaper "—and decided that it would be best if I made you a huge-ass breakfast every morning. So enjoy, princess."

Éponine decided to ignore the sarcasm in which his words were absolutely drenched in order to sit down and take a bite of her omelet. The combined tastes of steak, spinach, tomato, onion, and cheese,  
such an extravagant meal to her, made her close her eyes in happiness as she savored the meal.  
"You might want to clean up your language if you don't want our kid to have the vocabulary of a sailor." His partner noted.

"If you had it your way, his first word is gonna be 'Robespierre'." Grantaire quipped in reply.

"Perhaps 'Locke'." Enjolras's smile had crept into his eyes, creasing around the edges.

Grantaire was so wrapped up in his flirting that he didn't even notice the contented look drain from Éponine's face until she had violently thrown up all over her food.

"God fucking dammit!" Shouted Grantaire, "That took forever to make!"

Meanwhile Enjolras had dropped his newspaper and coffee and ran up to the shaking woman. "God, Éponine, are you okay? What's wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?" He was gushing out questions faster than she could answer them; not that she was giving any effort to.

Grantaire stalked off to the linen closet to get a towel. When he returned, Éponine was sitting on the floor with her new robe removed and leaned over a bucket.

"Can you please make Éponine a new omelet?" Asked Enjolras, busy cleaning up the mess. The sickly woman groaned.

"I can't eat anything right now. And don't you dare cook anything, the smell will just get everywhere. God, I'm nauseous." Came a muffled moan from the bucket, before she started coughing dryly, her empty stomach trying to push everything out.

Enjolras assumed that this wasn't a good time to whip out the nutrition schedule of every single meal from now until her due date, but he pressed anyway. "You've got to eat something."

She groaned. An understanding Grantaire went to the pantry and took out some Saltines. He, of all people, knew what it was like to wake up sick beyond belief. Proceeding to pick a glass out of the cupboard and draw some warm tap water, Grantaire laid his offerings in front of Éponine before sitting down next to her and rubbing his hand in firm, wide circles on her lower back. She sighed.

"I think we're going to have to postpone her prenatal yoga until tomorrow." Grantaire said. Enjolras didn't reply, choosing instead to scowl at the dishes as he washed the vomit off. If there was one thing he hated, it was not having things go as planned. "Do you want to come look at paint colors for the nursery once you're feeling better?" He asked softly.

Éponine shook her head. "I'll be fine as soon as the room stops spinning. You boys can leave me here, I'll survive, I promise." She didn't bother to lift her face out of the bucket.

Enjolras scoffed at the idea. "We're not leaving you."

Once she had stopped dry heaving, Enjolras had put Éponine in the living room in front of a Doctor Who marathon and led Grantaire into his study.

"I'm worried about our child." Enjolras stated.

For once, it was Grantaire who took the optimistic approach. "Would you relax, Enj? Our baby is going to be fine. Just stop panicking." Enjolras shook his head. "God you're cute when you're worrying.

"Be serious."

But instead, he took the blond man in his arms so that their chests were pressed against each other and held him close. "Just don't worry too much. It doesn't matter what we do, whatever happens, happens. Don't sweat it."

"Ever the existentialist." Enjolras breathed, wrapping his arms around the taller man and leaning to kiss his cheek.

"Nihilist."

"Whatever you say."

"I refuse to submit to Sartre. No, I am a nihilist true and true."

"Do we really want to talk about this now?" Asked Enjolras, his lips brushing the skin on his neck.

"No, I guess not. In fact, now that I think about it, there are several things I want to do right now that I didn't have the chance to do last night due to your exceptionally annoying obsession with the dietary habits of pregnant women." He replied, smirking a bit as he tilted his head to trail kisses down his lover's jawline.

-(a few weeks later)-

Enjolras practically ran into his study and slammed the door behind him. The floor was covered in plastic and his partner, covered in pastel paints, was up on a stepladder, painting the head of a giraffe. "Éponine is insane!" He proclaimed, sliding down the door and sitting on the ground.

"Why do you think I'm holed up in here? The fumes make her nauseous. It's like 'Ponine-repellant." Grantaire said, stifling a laugh.

"The fumes make her nauseous?" He spat, "And yet she eats ketchup in her yogurt! Something is seriously wrong with that woman. She is not following my meal plan at all." Grantaire continued painting while Enjolras rubbed his temples. "It's gonna be worse once she has the kid, you know." He said matter-of-factly.

"This is basically like raising a kid. All she does is eat, sleep, cry, and vomit. Good God, parenting is difficult."

"Said the one hiding away doing arts and crafts all day."

Grantaire scowled. "Watch it." He snapped, "I've been plenty useful, thank you very much. Who do you think keeps running out to the store every time the princess has a new craving? Certainly not the one too busy with the work he promised to cut back on to do anything useful around the house."

"Maybe I would be able to cut back more if you had an actual job to cover the difference." Retorted an increasingly annoyed Enjolras. The poor giraffe's nose was horribly disfigured when Grantaire threw the paintbrush onto the ground.

"Don't you think I would if I could?" The artist countered heatedly.

"If you could what, stay sober long enough to hold one down?" Enjolras knew it was a stupid thing to say, and yet he couldn't stop the words from escaping his mouth.

"I'm fucking trying," Grantaire growled, trying desperately to hide the hurt that was enveloping his face. "It's not like I can just flip a switch. It's hard as shit."

"Oh, really? Was it 'fucking difficult' to down a six pack at Bahorel's last week? Is that what a prospective father does? Goes out and gets drunk with his friends while I'm hard at work trying to plan for our family?" He knew that he was going to regret this later. The words had taken a mind of their own as they rushed straight through the filter between his mouth and his brain.

Grantaire came down from the stepladder and stormed toward the door. "Move." He demanded. Enjolras didn't budge. "I said move, you fucking bastard. I need some air."

He shook his head in response. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No shit, Sherlock. Now move your ass or I'll move it for you."

"Okay, please listen to me." He tried to be reasonable, standing up slowly. But Grantaire just pushed him aside and took long, heavy steps over to the counter, grabbed his keys, and made for the front door.

"Where are you going?" Éponine asked innocently, though he knew she had heard them.

"Out" was his only reply.

"Oh, pick me up some sardines while you're out! And scones!" She shouted, but he had already slammed the door.

Grantaire trudged into the snow that had not had the chance to be warmed by sunlight yet, not caring about his lack of jacket as he got in the car.

His gut reaction was to go get piss-drunk and forget everything entirely, but that would be giving Enjolras exactly what he wanted: to be right. So he threw that idea out the window as soon as it entered the playing field. The next idea that crossed his mind was going to cry about it to Éponine; circumstances made this solution impossible, and he sighed as he realized that those were his only two usual options. He racked his brain for ideas to cool down that didn't involve talking to a psychopath or doing something Enjolras would never let go of. Instead, he whipped out his phone and called the most perfect couple on his contact list.

Cosette picked up after one ring. "Grantaire, darling, how wonderful to hear from you!" She chirped. He could practically feel her smile coming from the other line.

"Hey, Cosette. I have a favor to ask of you –"

"Anything!" She interrupted.

"—Do you think you could come babysit Éponine for Enjolras and I? We need some time out." He admitted.

Her voice was much more somber when she spoke again. "Another fight?"

"Not a big one. You don't need to worry about it. We just need some time to sort everything out, that's all." Grantaire said with a sigh.

"Of course. I'll be over in a few minutes. I'll bring Georges, too, he always seems to cheer her up."

"You're an angel, Cosette." He responded, although he didn't think having Marius's baby present would be any comfort to the crazed woman.

"See you soon, sweetheart. Hang in there."

With that, Grantaire hung up and leaned his head back on the seat, where he closed his eyes and thought about what had just happened. After he had cooled down a bit, he picked up his phone and called Enjolras's cell.

"Come outside."

"Why?" Came the slightly worried reply.

"Just do it," and he hung up. He glanced over to the door to see his partner pulling on a coat as he shut it behind him. Spotting Grantaire, he ran up to the car and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Listen, about what I said earlier –" Enjolras started, but as usual, Grantaire interrupted him.

"I know. I'm trying to quit, I really am."

"I know."

"And if you want me to find a real job, I can do that. I swear I can."

"I didn't mean what I said, Grantaire. I was angry," Enjolras said sincerely, taking Grantaire's hand in his own.

"It's fine." He said, a ghost of a smile creeping onto his lips, "You know I can't stay mad at you for too long." And with that, he pulled his hands out of his lover's and put the key into the ignition.

"We can't leave Éponine alone," Enjolras argued.

"Cosette's on her way."

It was Enjolras's turn to smile. "Look at you, being all responsible!" Grantaire just rolled his eyes. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know," Grantaire said, backing out of the driveway and onto the street. He drove in a straight line until they reached a fork. "Right or left?"

"Right," Enjolras stated.

They proceeded to drive with no particular direction in mind for at least an hour.

Grantaire suddenly veered off into a random field and put the car in park. When he pulled the key out, an uncomfortable silence settled upon them. "Do you want to talk?" He ventured.

"Yes." Enjolras said. "What I said back there, I am so sorry. I mean it. It was foolish of me to think that antagonizing you like that would actually help the situation."

"You were right about it, though. I haven't been trying hard enough. And I will try harder." He promised.

Enjolras took his hand again and kissed it. "I don't tell you how grateful I am for you often enough."

Grantaire shook his head. "You could have anyone you want, Enjolras, and yet you put up with me. I have no idea what goes on in that beautiful head of yours."

"Don't start on this now…"

"But it's true, though. I'm a disaster. You know it, too, but you let me hinder your beloved revolution and fuck up time after time after time and whenever I come crawling back to you like the dysfunctional wreck I am, you take me back every single time. I don't get it."

"I've told you a million times. Do I really need to say it again? I love you. I will always love you, no matter how badly you fuck up, because I know that you love me, too."

"I would do anything for you." His voice is almost a whisper.

"I know."

"But it's not enough."

"Don't talk like that."

"No, it's not enough. It will never be enough, because I am who I am. I'll never be a good father. You deserve someone so much better than me."

"Stop this right now," Enjolras snapped, his eyes harsh. "I'll be the first to admit that things haven't always been easy. But I know what I'm doing, and I won't have you belittling yourself with these ridiculous worries. You're going to be a fine father. You're great with kids. Sometimes I watch you play with Georges and it seems so natural and right that I just want to cherish the moment forever. You're perfect. There's always going to be room for improvement, but why dwell upon it? You can quit your drinking, yes, but in the meantime, why not just focus on what you're doing right?"

Grantaire's big brown eyes were gazing down at his lover's blue ones. "You're too good for me."

"Grantaire, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't be here right now, and I sure as hell wouldn't have asked you to be a father to our children. I'm doing this because I want to be with you. I love you, more than you could ever even begin to see. Quit with this 'I'm not worthy' bullshit before I absolutely lose it!"

He exhaled deliberately, painfully. "I guess it's just still sinking in."

"Nicolas Jean Grantaire, we have been together five years now and you still haven't wrapped your mind around the fact that I love you with all my heart?" Enjolras looked almost hurt. "I know I shout at you sometimes, but that's just because you can be so infuriating! But that's what we do! We fight, we say stupid things, and in the end, we come back together, because I have no idea what I would do without you and your idiotic cynicism. Yes, I find it annoying. Sometimes I do wish I had a lover who saw more eye-to-eye with me, but that would mean I wouldn't have you, so I throw those thoughts away. I couldn't bear to have anyone but you. We complement each other, you and I. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Grantaire let a quiet settle in, deeply contemplating what he had been told, before speaking again: "You're right, I guess," he began slowly, "you would probably be long dead had I not intervened and told you how stupid your original revolutionary plans were."

"Watch it," Enjolras warned, though he wasn't exactly angry anymore. "If my obsession with equality has come between us in the past, rest assured that I will do my best to make sure it doesn't again. I will always love Patria, but you are forever my favorite mistress."

"I believe the male version is 'master'," Grantaire replied with a smile.

It was infectious, and Enjolras's face lit up. "I wouldn't go that far," he joked.

"Let's get home. Éponine has probably driven Cosette and Georges up a tree by now," suggested Grantaire.

On the drive home, they avoided heavy subjects in order to discuss baby names, what was for dinner, and how Joly was probably having a panic attack due to Musichetta's and Bossuet's head colds. It was nice to be trivial for a change.

They entered their home unobtrusively, and Cosette smiled at them from the living room couch. "Shh…" she whispered, pointing down to Éponine, who was curled around a sleeping Georges. Enjolras smiled.

"I just got them to sleep," she murmured once they were close enough to hear her, "Éponine has been crying for the last twenty minutes. Something about 'Reichenbach feels'. I think it might have been a mistake to give her the password to your Netflix account."

"We owe you one," Enjolras replied, "Would you like to stay for dinner? Marius can come over too, of course."

Cosette nodded and smiled. "That would be lovely."

-(a few weeks later)-

"Goddammit, 'Taire, we are not having sex in the nursery," Enjolras ordered harshly, straining to contain himself as his partner's mouth sucked at his neck and left light bruises in its wake.

"We don't have to pick up the princess for another hour," came the muffled reply between kisses trailing up to his ear, "We've got time." The owner of the voice's hands roamed across an annoyed – and, as his body was unable to deny, turned on – Enjolras.

"On principle, I won't do it," he demanded, but his voice was caught in his throat when Grantaire's hands shifted to either side of his face and his hips swayed forward and pressed into his own.

Enjolras felt Grantaire smile into his skin. "But it was okay to do it in here when it was your office," he breathed, "and this isn't any different." His thumb was now stroking his cheek while the other hand made its way down to his chest.

"It's completely different," he retorted, but his voice lacked its usual authority.

This was the state that the cynic lived for: seeing his perfect Apollo reduced to mortal status by his desire - desire that he himself had woven into his mind. He leaned his top half back slightly upon feeling hands wander down the small of his back and _grab_. What he saw made him smile. Enjolras's eyes were closed, and his mouth was twisted into a devious smirk that he and he alone would see, for his expressions when speaking to others were either stoic or angrily passionate. This mischievous look was _his_. "Different?" He asked coyly, "I fail to see how this is any different from the time you had me in this very room last month."

"Grantaire, don't you start with this." There was no power in his words now.

If there was one thing Grantaire knew, it was how to get him going. "Mmm, that was so nice. I had indentations in my chest for hours from where your pens dug into me. It really hurt, you know."

Enjolras could no longer form words. His partner's hands were making their way up his shirt and mapping out his chiseled stomach.

"It was a good pain, though. Really good pain." He said, biting down hard on his collarbone. The only semblance of a response his partner could manage was a struggled groan. "Remember when you threw me so hard against the desk that it left a bruise?"

"_Oh._"

His hips surged forward again. "And that's not even starting to mention the marks from where you hit me so hard I couldn't lean on them for a week."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Grantaire seduces his lover.

Afterwords, they cuddle on the floor, and pay no attention to the fact that it's 6:00 - an hour after they were supposed to pick up Éponine from the doctor. They hear the the door open over the hum of the fan. "Shit," says the brunette, getting up and going out of the nursery's door without bothering to put on pants. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him like this before; more often than he'd like to admit, as in high school they would often take out their sexual frustrations on each other. "Éponine, I'm so sorry, I just-OH MY GOD." He bolted back into the room and slammed the door shut. Enjolras launched himself into a standing position.

"What is it?" He asked, instantly recognizing the mortified tone in his partner's voice.

Grantaire looked utterly panicked, and was breathing heavily. "Patron. Minette." He choked out, "In our house." The men hastily threw their clothes back on and cautiously exited the nursery.

What they beheld made Enjolras quiver in anger.

First offense, they were smoking. Each of the four of them had a butt hanging out of their mouth, and goddammit, it's only okay when Grantaire does that. For their second offense, a huge, muscular man was rifling through the cabinets. What struck them out, however, was the smug grin their shady leader was wearing, as if he was damn glad to be there.

"You have until the count of three to get your ugly thieves out of here, Montparnasse, or I swear you will regret ever setting foot in this house," Enjolras demanded bravely, earning an amused scoff from the shady man.

"Enjy, baby, relax!" He spoke like a 1920's gangster, which fit his persona quite well, as he was wearing a pinstripe suit and a top hat. Grantaire might have found it comical had he not been so livid. "I'm here to discuss business. Please, take a seat," he mocked cordiality, pulling out a chair from _his own table, fuck you very much_, and gesturing for him to sit.

"Three."

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be," he warned.

"Two."

Grantaire couldn't help but admire how courageous his partner could be when he got heated.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

"One." Enjolras surged forward, but he couldn't get very far, as two of the other men had bounded up to him and _lifted_ him off his feet. He struggled anyway, landing a solid punch to the smaller man's jaw. Grantaire leapt in after his leader, kicking the hulking behemoth in the crotch and elbowing the little guy in the nose, which made a satisfying crunch. They were no match for Patron-Minette, though, and within a few seconds of scuffling they were both pinned to the floor.

"That would have been a lot simpler if you had just listened to me, baby. Now, if you're done rudely interrupting, I would like to make a request of you," crooned Montparnasse, cocking his head slightly to look down at the men on the floor.

"Kiss my ass," Enjolras spat.

"Tsk, tsk! Defiant little bastard, you are." He used his cane to redirect Enjolras's face toward him. "What a pretty face you have. It would be a pity if someone were to mar such perfection." He kicked him in the face, making Grantaire thrash around angrily, but to no avail: Gueulemar was practically sitting on him.

"What the hell do you want?" Enjolras demanded finally.

"I knew you would come around. Word on the street is that the lovely Éponine is pregnant. Is that so?" He asked innocently.

"No," snapped Enjolras, "But even if she was, it wouldn't be any of your business, Montparnasse."

"That was a rhetorical question. I already know that she's pregnant. Now, the question is what she's decided to do with that baby of hers?"

"Again with the _none of your goddamn business,_" Grantaire pitched in, struggling to breathe under Gueulemar's impressive weight.

"You see, I normally wouldn't care what she does with her kid. However, there have been some… circumstances… concerning my legal status. Isn't that right, Claquesous?"

The tiny man with a broken nose snorted.

"Anywho, it is in my best interest that I collect the child as soon as it is born, and it is in your best interest that you hand it over without a fight. Do I make myself clear?"

"Over my dead body," Enjolras replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh, dear. I was truly hoping it wouldn't have to come to that, but if you insist…"

Just then, there was a loud pounding on the door. "Enjolras! Grantaire! I saw Montparnasse's car parked out in the driveway. Is everything alright in there?" Came the muffled bellow of Bahorel.

"HELP!" Grantaire shouted. Montparnasse's eyes widened in fear. If there was one man he shouldn't be messing with, it's Bahorel.

With a loud _crack_, the front door is kicked in, and Bahorel, Feuilly, and Bossuet rush in the house. Grantaire can almost swear he sees a delighted gleam in Bahorel's eyes as he drives his powerful fist straight into Babet's hawk-like skull. Bossuet tears Gueulemar off of Grantaire with a forceful yank and then slams him into the ground, coming down on top of him like a ton of bricks. Grantaire seizes the opportunity and springs up to smack his forehead against Claquesous' nose. If it weren't already broken, it probably would have snapped again. Instead, it just moved around under his skin, making the man yelp in pain.

Meanwhile, Montparnasse had started to make for the back door, but Feuilly was quicker. He grabbed one of his ankles and pulled it out from under him. Montparnasse fell to the ground instantly, and quickly scrambled away before Feuilly could regain his grip on him. He bolted out the back door. Feuilly decided chasing him wasn't worth it, so he instead turned and launched himself into the fray.

Bahorel was decidedly having way too much fun with this, as he had already broken at least three bones in his opponents' bodies, and he was showing no signs of stopping. A wide smile shone on his face. Little Claquesous managed to squirm away and out the same door Montparnasse had left through, leaving his two remaining friends behind.

In this time, Enjolras had regained his footing and was squaring off with Babet while the others took care of the giant. Enjolras was a skilled fighter, yes, but he lacked the extensive street experience the highwayman possessed, so he was knocked unconscious in a matter of seconds.

Bossuet took control of the situation by literally lifting Babet's lanky frame and throwing him out the back door.

This just left Gueulemar, who was writhing upon the ground. "I give! Let me go," he was screaming. Bahorel, Feuilly, and Grantaire backed away from him, and he ran out to join his gang.

Enjolras sat up slowly and his friends stood breathing heavily in the kitchen. He was the first to speak. "Thank you guys so much. I owe you one."

"What the hell was Patron-Minnet doing in your house?" Bahorel demanded.

"Hell if I know. One minute, we're alone in our home, the next, they're trashing the place and demanding out baby in return for our lives," Grantaire spat angrily.

"Thank God we got here just in time," Bossuet added.

"Yeah, how did you guys come upon our house?" Asked Grantaire.

"We were on our way to the Musain," Feuilly explained, "when we got a call from Éponine. She needed someone to pick her up from the doctor's office. So when we got back here, we saw Montparnasse's 'Royce, and we knew there was a problem."

"Where is Éponine?" Enjolras asked.

"I'm right here!" Came a call from the coat closet. She exited slowly. "I usually wouldn't pass up a chance to crack Montparnasse's spine, but I've got something pretty important to look after." She rubbed her abdomen absentmindedly. It had only been two months, so she wasn't showing yet, but she has picked up the habit of stroking her baby despite this.

Grantaire rushed up to her and pulled her into a tight hug. She smiled and hugged him back.

"I'll make pasta. You lot can stay for dinner if you want - my thank-you present to you," offered Enjolras.

"Hell yes," Feuilly exclaimed, not being one to pass up free food, "I'm starving!"


End file.
